


Brother Hood

by TwilightDeviant



Category: Robin Hood (BBC 2006)
Genre: Angst, Everybody Lives, Gen, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:01:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1369813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwilightDeviant/pseuds/TwilightDeviant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of three brothers who survived… only to be annoyingly stuck with each other. Had fate been more kind, or perhaps more cruel, they would have gotten just this.</p><p>Alternate series ending wherein certain deaths are prevented but still carry lasting effects.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I changed the position, depth, and severity of Guy’s wounds. Deal with it. But come on. This fic couldn’t happen without it. And yes, Isabella did stab Guy with her dagger, so he would have been poisoned too. But can we just… okay? We’ll pretend Robin hogged all the poison.

The room was stifling and oppressive. It might as well have housed a mourned corpse for all the joy that was to be found inside. However, the occupant on the bed, still and pale, was not dead— not yet.

Archer walked the room, back and forth, side to side, wide circles. He touched expensive things and quelled the desire to take them, to slide even the smallest of them into his pocket. It was his vague understanding that he would be stealing from his brother, one or the other, and while the thought might not have bothered him at any other time, to take from men on their deathbeds, with one or both feet in the grave, was something that smothered even his roguish nature.

He avoided the one loose floorboard in the room, already having memorized its placement in the day he had been there. He had been pacing too much perhaps.

The only other noise outside of his boots on the wooden floor was the snores of Much, alternating between quiet breaths and a croak loud enough to wake the dead. Though that wasn't entirely true, as it could not rouse even the half-dead.

Much sat in a chair in the corner and had only fallen asleep an hour previously, not of his own volition. He was exhausted. After the battle of the previous day and his constant vigil over his master, it was unsurprising. Archer respected the loyalty in the man he barely knew, though it was a concept he shared equal familiarity to. Loyalty had never been very present in his life, in either direction. He had never given it and, as a result, did not receive it. A knife in his back was as familiar as an embrace to others. Much, however, seemed as loyal as a dog and twice as friendly— underneath his moaning and whining, that was.

Archer approached the bed, a foreboding pedestal of sickness from which Death would not seem an unexpected visitor. Robin laid upon it, a modest white sheet raised to his chin and doing nothing to dispel his corpselike appearance. Anything more would have been oppressive though. His fever was high, and the cool rags Much had placed and replaced like clockwork did little to help. It seemed the poison would indeed claim his life.

"Marian," his brother called, voice hoarse and dry, brittle as autumn leaves. "Marian." Robin raised his hand, and it hovered an inch or so from the bed. Archer wondered if what he saw was a sign of consciousness or a feverish nightmare. "Marian." The hand dropped.

Nightmare.

Tuck had told them to expect the worst from Robin's condition, and Archer had accepted the suggestion as soon as it came from the man's lips. It was a miracle he had managed to hold on as long as he had, Tuck said. The physician agreed. Like medicines, it was explained, poisons affected each man differently. Robin could have died in an hour. He did not. He could have died in a day. He did not. He could still die before the week was out. He most likely would. Archer would probably lose his brother. And Robin was the one who stood the better chance at survival.

Guy rested on a cot downstairs. He alone could have saved Robin, revealed what poison he had given, allowed them to make some crude— probably ineffective— antidote. He was silent as the grave, though, and halfway there.

Tuck and the physician had said that there was nothing more that could be done for either of them. Their bodies had sustained them for a day and, God willing, would drag them through it. For the onlookers (members of Robin's gang or grateful men and women who brought food and prayers), it meant a lot of waiting.

Archer hated the waiting. It created a uselessness in him that had not previously been there. The feeling was new and most definitely unwelcome.

"Marian," Robin called again.

Archer left the room.

It was late at night, but a servant still intercepted him at the bottom of the stairs, asking if he needed anything. Archer liked the concept of servants, had always fancied the idea of being rich enough to have some of his own one day. These people, however, felt more like companions, and giving them orders made him feel guilty. He supposed it was the Robin Hood mentality, another thing he did not like.

There was a fire crackling quietly in the hearth, though it benefited only one. Robin's men had crept off to bed. Kate had left Locksley Manor entirely and returned to her own home. Therefore only Guy was around to feel its warmth. His chilled skin seemed to need it, so Archer threw another log or two onto the flame.

"Cold, brother?" he asked softly, making conversation with himself to stave off his feeling of helplessness. "Come closer to the fire." Archer grabbed an edge of the bed and dragged it across the floor with one long, sustained screech. "Better?"

He sat in a chair by the fire, pretending the flitting flame had won his attention but actually watching his brother from the corner of his eye.

"Think you're so entitled," Archer muttered after a moment. His fingers threaded together and he sank in his seat. "Some noble, a knight. Why should I care if you live or die?" His gaze turned keenly to Guy, as though expecting an answer. "Don't think I haven't heard what the people think of you, Sir Guy of Gisborne. Someone threw a rock at me just for carrying you." His finger tapped a small cut on his forehead. "That actually really hurt, you know." Archer turned away again, almost convincing himself that the flame was more interesting than an unconscious dying man. "What have you got to live for? Nothing." He regretted his words. They fell on deaf ears, yet still he felt judged. "I'm not supposed to get my hopes up over you, Robin either. I decided I wouldn't."

Minutes fled past unceasingly. The silence was unbearable. It seemed like a plague that had descended upon the house, invading every corner, choking the life from every nook. He spoke again just to shut it out, picking up the thread of conversation he had dropped. "But if you could…" He paused, feeling ridiculous. "If you could pull through… well, I wouldn't exactly hate it." Allowing himself that small shred of hope appeared to do wonders for his nerves. An insignificant amount of weight pulled away him. But it was something.

He watched the fire for a good half-hour longer, but the sun would be up soon. He needed to get _some_ rest. Archer stood and laid a hand on Guy's forehead. It was still cold, so he grabbed a quilt from a chest and draped it over the man.

He was halfway up the stairs when he heard a quietly uttered word: "Marian."

—

"Who's Marian?"

Archer wanted to laugh as one, then another, piece of silverware was dropped in surprise. It seemed a fairly severe reaction from the men he sat round the table with.

"Where did you—" Little John began, only to be interrupted by Much, who was taking a moment from his watch over Robin to have a bit of breakfast.

"Your brother's wife," he said, eyes downcast.

"Which one?" Archer asked with a snort and a grin. "They both call her name." He watched and waited for an answer, but neither John nor Much would so much as look at him. Archer turned his gaze to Tuck, but the man shook his head. Either he did not want to say or did not know. Perhaps he did know, but not enough to explain. "What happened?" he asked grimly.

"She was _Robin's_ wife," John told him, his words a low growl and wholly laced with passive aggression. "Gisborne killed her."

No one volunteered any information after that, and Archer did not ask. Luckily patience came easy to him. He would find out, in time. He would find out many things regarding his brothers, whether from the men he ate with or the ones that fought for their lives. Archer cursed himself for getting his hopes up for their survival.

—

That evening, Guy awoke for a brief moment. He groaned in pain, and Archer leapt from his chair, dropping his sword and the whetstone he had been sharpening it with. The stairs were taken two at a time as he climbed them and retrieved Tuck from Robin's bedside.

When they came back down, Guy was writhing in distress and clawing at his wound, like a small child who thought he could end the ache by pulling at the injury and discarding it. Archer held down his hands, and Guy cried out again, a strained and sorrowful sound of torment.

"Tuck!" Archer yelled at the man beside him, not content with the, what he considered, leisurely pace Tuck opened a vial with.

"A moment, please," he replied, head and voice both surprisingly cool. He leaned down. "Drink this, Gisborne. Drink." He held the bottle to his mouth, but Guy shook his head. A broken and unwanted sob escaped his parched lips. "Guy, drink this. It's for pain, son." One of Archer's hands quit its hold and instead pried Guy's mouth open. Together, he and Tuck forced the potion on their unwilling patient.

Guy did not stay awake but a few moments after that. He fled into unconsciousness, leaving a trail of mutterings that could have been words but sounded more like inane whimpers.

Archer sank back into his seat, feeling exhausted despite the minimal energy he had exerted. He did not like playing nurse and found the job very taxing. "You get many difficult cases like him?" he questioned passively, making conversation.

"I don't get many cases at all," Tuck responded. "I am not a doctor by trade." He found a chair of his own and sat down between the two brothers, a watchful eye trained on Guy.

"Nah, you're just a jack of all trades, aren't you?"

"I try to be whatever the situation calls for," spoke Tuck. He stopped up the vial he had used, prepared to employ the other half when its moment came. "Gisborne, though, he does not trust easily. Before this is over I will most likely label him amongst my more… challenging patients."

Archer nodded and hummed in his throat.

—

The next morning, Archer left. It wasn't forever. It wasn't even for a day. However, he found the manor to be as oppressive as a hanging and as constricting as the noose that came with it. He volunteered to retrieve supplies and possessions that had been left in Robin's camp. No one wanted to leave and collect them, while Archer could think of nothing but.

The day was nearly gone when he finally found the camp and allowed his feet to drag him in the direction of the house. Even then he leisurely wasted time and conversed with several villagers, placing a bet with a few that he was just as good of a shot with the bow-and-arrow as Robin Hood. He almost felt bad taking their money.

When he could at last be bothered to return to Locksley Manor, Much met him on the road, running at a swift pace. At first, Archer prepared for the worst news possible, but as the man drew nearer, he saw that Much wore not a mask of grief, but a smile.

"Fever," Much panted, doubled in half and breathing heavily. "Fever broke." His head sagged between his shoulders as he tried to catch his breath.

"Good," was the only word Archer could think to say. What else was there?

The day after, Robin opened his eyes. He looked around and took in the sight of Archer, Much, and John. A confused expression made itself known on his face, but when he opened his mouth to ask a question, only a harsh rasp came out. Much was quick to assist with a cup of water.

They waited anxiously for him to say something, but he immediately slipped away once more.

—

Guy showed signs of waking again, but Archer had left and missed most of them. When he returned, it was to see Tuck sitting closely beside his brother and watching him vigilantly. Tuck was the only one who cared after Guy, outside of Archer himself and one servant. It wasn't necessarily that the others wished him harm at that point, however Robin took an obvious priority.

Archer fell into a seat beside the man and watched Guy's prostrate form. He released sporadic, distressed groans, some drawn out into hoarse cries. His hands twitched at his side and his eyes scrunched and creased with reluctance— whether it was over opening them or fighting to keep them closed, it could not be guessed.

Another minute passed, its seconds marching by. Guy's eyes opened abruptly. It was as though he had finally won, or lost, whatever battle he had fought and decided to no longer delay matters. The blue of his eye was outdone by its black in the darkened room. His large pupils wandered tiredly, taking in as much as he could. He saw Tuck and blinked. He saw Archer and smiled.

"Brother," Guy whispered. He pulled his neck off the pillow and cried at the sting caused from the meager bit of exertion.

"Shh, Sir Guy," Tuck murmured in a hushed voice, ushering him back down. "Do not try to get up."

"Get up?" he croaked, throat raw. "I'm far too tired for that. I can't even move my legs." His eyes narrowed as he looked at the monk. "What have you given me?" he asked with suspicion.

"Something for the pain, nothing more," Tuck responded. His focus turned from the man and retreated back inside his own head. He patted Guy on the shoulder and rose from his chair, intent on making himself look busy with other matters around the nearby table.

Archer stood as well, but only to slip himself into Tuck's abandoned seat at the head of Guy's cot. "So you finally decided to wake up?"

"How long have I been out?" Guy was quick to question. He cast his gaze to the window and saw that it was late afternoon.

"Four… days, I suppose," Archer thought as he reflected over each day of monotony.

Guy seemed troubled by something but looked equally disinclined to voice the matter aloud. Instead he laid and took in many wheezing breaths, each sounding as painful as its predecessor. He would not speak. Long wooden beams overhead appeared to be his primary concern. He stared at them unwaveringly.

Archer's hand hovered tentatively above him before finally dropping down and ruffling his matted hair. "Rest," he ordered. "Get better." He made to stand up. Guy grabbed his wrist, clutching it weakly. The grip held nothing of the fierce strength that had been present only days before.

"Robin," he said quietly, though it was as good as any question.

"Upstairs," Archer answered, pointing above. "He's not too bad off, not good either."

Guy nodded slightly, barely more than a blink of the eyes. The answer satisfied him. He did not ask after his own wellbeing. For the moment, he was alive and awake. Little else seemed to matter.

Archer walked to where Tuck stood. He nodded in Guy's direction and grinned. "That's a good sign, yeah? Awake and alert."

Tuck did not look as content as he. Gravely, he shook his head and pulled Archer further away from Guy's sickbed. "I need you to distract him," he said.

"Why?" Archer watched Guy from across the room. His eyes struggled to stay open, but it was a battle he was winning.

"No," said Tuck, shaking his head, "I'd much rather give you news than supposition. Just keep his eyes drawn to you and off of me. I assure you I mean him no harm."

"All right then," Archer said. His head bobbed in a halfhearted nod. "I will."

He sauntered back over to Guy. Normally he took to a con like a fish to water, but this diversion business made him uneasy. He sat down and drummed his fingers along the wooden frame of Guy's cot. The man raised a slightly annoyed eyebrow at him but said nothing.

Archer saw Tuck approach out of the corner of his eye and decided he had best begin a distracting line of conversation. "I've been out in the village," he reported, attempting to keep his words trivial and untroubling. "Nice group of folks. Not too good at winning bets though." He patted the coin purse he had tied to his belt. Guy scoffed, but a slight smirk betrayed his amusement. "Unseasonably nice these past few days. Well, there was that one bit of rain. Overall though, I think you've missed the last warm days before winter starts setting in."

Guy turned his head at a leisurely pace— though perhaps it was as quick as he could— and looked at Archer. "Are you—" He coughed. "Are you _really_ going to sit there and discuss the weather with me?" he asked incredulously.

Archer chuckled and held up a hand in sign of surrender. The banality of his conversation had not gone unnoticed by the man. "What would you like to talk about then?"

" _Not_ the weather," Guy answered, closing his eyes for a moment.

From the corner of his eye, Archer watched Tuck. It wasn't much, not enough to even fathom what he was doing, but giving the monk any more attention ran the risk of drawing Guy's eye. "Robin seems to be doing better than expected." He took a guess that Guy was more worried over his former enemy than he was willing to let on. A nod was all the permission Archer needed to continue. "Bit touch and go, especially since you were the only one who knew the poison. But he's done all right without the proper antidote. His fever broke yesterday. Physician thinks he'll pull through."

"Too stubborn to die," Guy muttered with slight mirth.

"Look who's talking," Archer countered. It won a smile from Guy, an honest one. He noticed then that Tuck had gone and could not dispel the want to follow and get an answer. "I'll let you rest then," he said, patting Guy on the shoulder before standing. "If you need anything, just yell, bang on the wall, something. I might not come, but I'm sure someone will. I'm almost certain."

He caught up to Tuck just inside the front door, but the man would not hear his question. "Not here," he whispered. "Outside."

They walked out into the space that flattery might have called a courtyard. Archer leaned against a ladder and crossed his arms. "Well?" he prompted.

Tuck reached into his sleeve and pulled out a large, blunt needle. "I stuck this," he said, "into each of his feet."

Archer tried to brush the peculiarity of that away. "And?"

"He felt it not," the man responded gravely.

"What do you mean to say?" Archer asked, pushing off the ladder to stand straight. Clearly it was a serious matter up for discussion. "How?"

"It certainly isn't leprosy or infection. I believe this was the doing of steel upon his body," Tuck told him, though he appeared reluctant to do so, to admit the fact. He ran a tired hand down his face. "He may have lost the use of his legs."

Archer sighed heavily. "A cripple, you mean."

"Yes." Tuck's boots kicked dirt around as he paced. A thin cloud followed his steps. "It could have happened upon being dealt the blow," he thought aloud. "It could have come from his being moved around so much after the injury. Either way…" His words fell off into a heavy silence. The why of it did not matter. He could speak of possible causes all day long, yet still it would not change the outcome.

"What do we tell him?" Archer asked resignedly. He had never been one for empathy, and that moment was no exception. Putting himself in Guy's place, imaging being the one to receive such news, was a horrible and sickening thought. He would not grant it access to his mind.

"The truth," Tuck said. He nodded resolutely, hiding away the uncertainty on his face. "Concealing it will not help him."

Archer felt like a coward as he followed the monk back into the house. The sun stayed behind and threw their likenesses along the floors and wall. Tuck walked in his mighty shadow, yet Archer felt small and afraid. Was it necessary to give Guy the news at that very moment? It was. Of course it was. Dragging matters out would help no one.

Though it might make Archer feel better. He wanted to leave, to quit the looming unpleasantness, but surely Guy would want him there.

Would he though? Archer knew practically nothing about the man. What he did know seemed to suggest he would not want an audience to his misfortune.

Archer took one step back.

Guy looked at him then, craning his neck to see his brother around Tuck's large form. He wore a smile that was bittersweet. If he did not know better, Archer might have imagined he was already aware of the facts. But he couldn't have been. Perhaps his discomfort showed more than he thought, and Guy was trying to reassure _him_.

No, he would not abandon his brother.

Archer stood at the head of Guy's bed, leaning against the staircase with a hand resting on a step. Guy could not see him without twisting his neck, but he knew he was there. Archer would be a presence, ready in whatever way Guy may need him, even if that be not at all.

"Sir Guy," Tuck spoke as he sat down. Guy looked at the man, but his eyes were heavy and clouded. His short time awake already seemed to be wearing on him.

"What?" Guy asked, voice tired and short.

"It's regarding your injury, I'm afraid."

Guy's eyes widened just a hair. "I'm dying," he guessed, though the words came out as a statement. He seemed apathetic to his fate, every bit the man who had stared down Death and resigned himself to it so many times.

"No, my son," Tuck said. He reached a hand out to take one of Guy's in a symbol of reassurance but thought better of it. Instead his palm pressed roughly into the fabric covering his own knee. "I have faith you shall live. But what the blades have done, or undone, is something you may have a hard time accepting."

"Spit it out already," Guy ordered, his patience thinning.

"There's been a heavy damage done inside. Guy, I believe…" He trailed off into silence before taking a breath and continuing with strong, concise words. "You have lost the use of your legs."

There was an expected, yet unique, form of disbelief that passed over Guy's stoic face, barely perceived. His eyebrows twitched and shifted much like waves on the beach, rushing in from concentration, back with acknowledgement.

He heard the words the monk told him. He regarded them. He rolled each syllable over in his mind until they were reduced to nothing more than the brittle hulls of their former selves.

He did not accept the words.

Guy's face contorted in a piteous display, a wasted effort obvious in him as he concentrated on trying to move limbs that had betrayed him.

"I have done a sensory test. You cannot feel or move them, Sir Guy," Tuck repeated. His hands hovered over Guy, ready to calm and subdue the man if he should get out of hand. "There is—"

"Shut it," Guy growled crossly. He dug his fingers into the corner of his blanket and cast it away, revealing a bandaged chest and waist. A pained grunt ripped through him as he picked up his head and looked desperately at his legs, as though seeing them would restore his control. Seeing them would bring the traitorous limbs back under his command.

It did not.

His head dropped heavily back onto the pillow. He breathed deeply and lay still, either exhausted from his small effort or plotting his next move. Tuck tried to speak again, but Guy would not hear what he had to say. He quieted him and leaned forward again, chin meeting his chest but his body moved no further than that.

Wanting to put an end to his brother's defiant mistrust, Archer leaned down and offered his assistance. He put one hand to Guy's arm, the other to his shoulder, and helped him rise in the most painful act of sitting up Archer had ever witnessed. Were he a lesser man, Archer was sure Guy may have cried.

Sitting as far forward as his wounds would allow, Guy took a better look at his legs, willing them to move, pleading with them to so much as twitch. They did not. He reached out and jabbed one harshly with his index finger. The despairing half-sob that escaped unbidden from his throat made it obvious that he had not felt it.

"Put me down." Guy's voice was as hard and even as polished stone. "Put me down!" he yelled when Archer did not let him fall fast enough.

He laid staring at the ceiling, body still but for the eyes darting back and forth as quickly as his mind must have been.

"We have no way of knowing the full extent of the damage," Tuck stated, finally able to without Guy cutting him off. "This sort of injury, I've seen it before. Not all of them last forever. You may one day wake up feeling perfectly normal." He paused briefly, and when he spoke again, his voice was lower and much more serious. "I must caution you to accept fate as it is though. Do not get your hopes up."

Guy was quiet for a long while. A stranger to the scene might have sworn he had fallen asleep with his eyes open. At last he said, "Leave me."

Tuck looked to Archer imploringly, who only shrugged his shoulders. Knowing Guy most likely did need a moment alone to think, the monk allowed him his demand. He left the room in search of some other way the manor could have use of him.

Archer stood uneasily on his feet. It was unclear if he had been included in the man's order to go away. He wanted nothing more than to leave— the room, the house, the village; he didn't care which. The whole environment was stifling, and he felt like a formerly unbound bird being held underwater.

Against his judgment and his want, Archer knelt beside the bed. Guy would not look at him. He reached out with a consoling hand— impulsive words of comfort undoubtedly soon to follow— but Guy smacked it away with surprising strength. "I said leave," he sneered. His eyes remained focused on the ceiling. His face was tight with anger. A small degree of worry and fear may have been present as well, but who was Archer to comment on the validity of that?

He left, not needing to be told a third time.


	2. Chapter 2

Archer was asleep in the spare room he had claimed upon arrival when Much woke him late that night. Robin was showing signs of consciousness again. As wonderful as that probably was, Archer didn't see the urgency in the matter or why he had to be reported to personally. Surely Robin would still be there in the morning. However, Much was unrelenting in his assertion that Archer should be there when his brother woke up.

Begrudgingly, he followed Much down the hall. However, he did not last long in the dark, quiet room, and soon Archer had fallen back to sleep in a chair in the corner.

What must have been an hour or two later, he woke to the sound of hushed voices.

"Drink some more, please," Much urged. With one hand he cradled Robin's head; the other held a metal cup to dry and cracked lips. He did not pull it back until the liquid was gone.

Robin coughed— a pathetic, parched sound— and spoke. "Locksley?" His eyes took the room in weakly, lids heavy still from exhaustion. "What am I doing here? Much, I wanted to die in Sherwood."

"Well," Much spoke, fidgeting nervously with Robin's blanket, smoothing out wrinkles, "you tried to. But you passed out carrying Gisborne. I tried to stop you, but you did insist, you and Archer both. Something about brotherhood, I don't know." He stood up straight and folded his arms petulantly. "I think it was a very foolish thing. So we brought you here instead."

A small, sad smile played on Robin's lips. He nodded his head, both happy and disappointed with Much's decision— happy and disappointed to be alive. "Thank you, Much," was the last thing he said on the subject.

Robin asked after his brother, and Archer felt the need to stand and approach finally. Much looked surprised to see him awake. "You're too late," he said, arms reaching up to grab the canopy and stretching as he leaned forward. "Guy beat you in waking up first."

"He's all right then?" Robin asked, coughing again. His skin was discolored and dry, his eyes tired and heavy, yet still he asked about the wellbeing of another.

"That depends on your definition of 'all right'," Archer answered. He shrugged his shoulders, but with his arms out like they were, the effect was not very well achieved. "He's paralyzed from the waist down. Taking it about as well as you'd imagine, maybe worse."

Robin looked somewhat unsurprised by the news and took it with a grim nod. Much was a bit more expressive at his side, apparently not having heard the report from Tuck. Perhaps the monk was trying to preserve Guy's honor by not spreading word of his injury, by not subjecting him to people's pity, should they have room for it in their hearts for him.

"Well," said Much, face distracted with thought, "it's not like he, of all people, didn't deserve it."

"No, Much," Robin reprimanded. His fists clenched weakly around his thin blanket. "Gisborne has atoned for his evil. Even God would pardon him if he asked, and we are no better than Him. I may never be able to forgive his sins, but I can try and forget them." He went silent and took a deep breath that charged back out in a dry, painful cough. "Guy saved my life. It's the reason why he is… how he is now." Robin shook his head, unable to make himself say the word 'crippled', however technical it may be. It felt like an insult, and he would not speak it. He then looked at Archer in an earnest way as he said his next words, as if they were a pledge to his younger brother. "I owe him my life. I will take the responsibility of his care."

Archer nodded, feeling somewhat grateful to Robin for accepting the role. Much simply scoffed and refilled Robin's cup of water. "That's all well and good, but first how about you look after yourself?" he chided.

"I'm fine," Robin fussed. "A headache, some dizziness, a thirst that will not quit, but fine."

"The physician said you might say that. _You_ ," Much informed him, "are dehy… dehydra…"

"Dehydrated?" Robin supplied, a quirky smile on his face.

"Yes, that one." He nodded and propped Robin up for another drink. "He said it's a side effect of you heaving up every meal you've ever eaten."

"I don't remember that." Despite his terrible thirst, Robin's sips were slow and shallow.

"I'm not surprised," Much said. "Well, I mean, you _were_ really out of it."

"You've had him worried," Archer stated, dropping his arms at last. He thought of his claimed bed and wondered if it missed him. Giving Robin a comforting pat on the shoulder, he left while Much tried to defend his perfectly understandable concern over his master.

—

It was two days later when Archer jogged down the steps from Robin's room. He stopped at the bottom and turned an eye towards Guy. The man laid, as ever, on his cot in the great room. They had placed him there at first so he could be accessible for treating and near the large fire's warmth in the cooling months. Now his presence was little more than a despondent shadow that most tried to ignore as they passed through. Those that did pay him any mind seemed to have the joy drawn from them when they saw his listless face— still as death— that looked unceasingly at the ceiling or wall behind him.

Archer was immune to Guy's self-indulgent melancholia. He passed through the room and did not feel the need to avert his eyes. He was not affected by the morose figure that spread an infecting depression like a dog did fleas. Archer looked at Guy and saw a man, a sad man who had lost something and wasn't handling it well. He looked at Guy and saw the fresh plate of food beside him, as untouched as all of its predecessors. He looked at Guy and felt no need to linger in the presence of a man who would abandon his own bedside if he was able.

His stride was unbroken as he passed through the great room and outside, under a sun so bright one might be fooled into thinking the cool weather was a warm, spring thing. An axe head came back at him suddenly and Archer ducked under it just in time to avoid a blow. He sidestepped John's mighty swing and tapped the unobserving man on the shoulder.

John turned and his face pulled into a contrite grin. "Almost had your head there," he laughed, dropping the axe to his side.

"I know," Archer responded with an exhale of relief. "Another inch or two…" He trailed off. "But that's probably enough firewood anyway." He looked at the stacks lining the wall: John's distraction in his own brand of uselessness. There was enough for two months, at least. Archer reached his hand forward and tentatively eased the axe from John's grip. "Robin wants you."

"What about?" John asked, letting Archer take the tool.

"Didn't say." Archer dropped the axe to lean against the wall and gestured for John to enter the house. He followed. Unsurprisingly, the man did not so much as spare a glance at Guy when they passed. He was one of the many who preferred to pay no mind to the specter who lay in the corner, withering in body and mind.

When they had climbed the steps, John knocked on Robin's door, and he bid them to enter. He was sat up in his bed, looking like a new man from having only a little drink and food in him again. Archer took the seat in the corner while Robin looked the great man up and down.

"What are you doing here, John?" he asked plainly.

Little John stared at him peculiarly. "You… asked—"

"What are you doing in _Locksley_?" Robin elaborated.

"I wanted to make sure you were all right, of course." He still looked befuddled, mind wondering how Robin could not guess such a simple fact.

"Thank you, my friend," Robin said happily, "but your job is done. I and the people of Nottinghamshire owe you a debt we shall never truly be able to pay."

John shuffled self-consciously on his feet, the toes of his boots tapping on the wooden floor. "You know that's not why I—"

"That being said," Robin interrupted, "get out of my house. I don't want to see your face in Locksley for a long while." John stared at him, crestfallen. Robin held his gaze, face stern, for as long as he was able. When he could bare it no longer, he broke into a bubbly chuckle. Seeing his game, John joined in as well. Even Archer cracked a grin from the lighthearted sound of their laughter. "Go!" Robin ordered, shooing him out the door as well as he could. "See your family, John. You've earned it."

"Robin," he tried to object, not wanting to leave the man's side; however, Robin would not hear it.

"You would do my heart more good meeting with your family than you would my ears from hearing you split wood all day." Little John looked sheepish, but Robin had no staying power for his embarrassment. "Go!" he said again. "I want you out by the morning."

John rushed from the room to begin packing his bag. He ran back in not but a moment later to extend his gratitude to Robin. Then he was gone again.

"Will you dismiss them all?" Archer questioned of him, eyes focused on the tree line outside the window. "Send each of them away?"

"That's the plan," Robin answered him. He sat up a little straighter and fell back into his pillows. "I would have them pick up the lives they put on hold."

"And what about our lives?" Archer was quick to counter, turning to look disapprovingly at Robin. "What defenses will we have if Prince John decides to continue his vendetta against you?"

"I'm counting on him to try that very thing," said Robin, seemingly indifferent to the matter. "And that is why I would send them all as far from me as I can." He paused. "You're welcome to leave as well, if you are so worried over your own safety."

"I'll stay," Archer told him after a moment's thought, "for now. But do not feel surprised if I take you up on the offer."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Robin stated, breathing deep and reclining in his bed.

—

When dawn broke, it was not only Little John but Tuck as well who stood on the doorstep. He stated that his disappearance would be a quick one and that he had every intention of returning. For several days, he had been toying with the idea of leaving and had finally found a good opportunity in John's departure.

"I would like to help the people still," he had said, "in any way that I can. And if I can acquire some news regarding Prince John's intentions or King Richard's imprisonment, that would be all the better." Robin was grateful and already felt indebted to him over both matters.

Archer helped Robin outside, and— along with Much— they saw their companions off on two of the nicest horses Locksley had to offer.

When they reentered the house, Robin lost all joviality. His face was drawn into a serious expression as he approached a matter he had ignored and walked past, that he had been unable to descend and deal with until that moment.

"Gisborne," he spoke in a businesslike manner. He stood at the side of Guy's bed and looked down, almost angrily, at the still man. He gave the impression of being asleep, but eyes darted very visibly back and forth below their lids. "What's this I hear about you not eating?" Archer had no idea who had told Robin. All he knew was that it wasn't him.

"When it becomes a subject where your opinion matters," Guy said quietly, "I will answer your question." They were the first words he had spoke in days. It was obvious by the hoarse, grating sound they made.

"Not hungry?" Robin asked. He took a plate of food from a passing servant and held it firmly in his hand.

"No," Guy responded simply, and maybe it was true. Loss of appetite after such devastating news was not unheard of. It was still not a very healthy decision, however.

Robin leaned down and hauled Guy's head up as best he could with the man fighting him. Then he shoved the plate of food under his nose. "Smell it," he insisted. "It's good."

Guy refused, but when he could no longer hold his breath in like an ill-tempered child, he reluctantly inhaled the scent of eggs and ham and fresh bread. It turned his stomach. His face paled as though he might be sick after smelling food following so many days of fasting. He pushed away the plate and Robin with it, almost causing the meal to fall wasted on the floor.

Robin stood and pushed the plate away to the nearest person who would take it. That happened to be Archer. "There was a man in the army," Robin told them. Guy rolled his eyes. "He was in shock, seen too much. He wouldn't eat." He began to turn the hanging white sleeves of his shirt up his arms. "Well, we asked him to eat something, anything. Then we begged. When that didn't work, we ordered." Robin shook his head. "Still wouldn't have it. You can imagine how by that time half of our little group was a bit annoyed, the other half worried. But to everyone," Robin said as he kneeled down by Guy, "it sounded like a good idea," he leaned closer, "to force him."

At once, Robin pounced on Guy. He wrenched his arms above his head until they hung off the edge of the cot. Guy winced and hissed at the pull and the sting it caused to his chest and the wound upon it, but Robin would not apologize for his ill treatment. He did relent a bit, however. Seeing it as a meager opportunity, Guy hefted the man as high and as far away as he could, but he was weak and in pain so he wasn't very successful at all. Again, Robin pushed upon his arms and the slack muscles there. It was pathetic in a way, the overpowering hold Guy felt over himself, because Robin was still quite weak as well. Where did that put him?

Guy grunted and writhed much like an injured animal in a trap. He yelled obscenities and meaningless threats. Watching the two of them was the most immature thing Archer had seen in… well, not too long. Petty childishness seemed to be a frequent happenstance between the two brothers fate had seen fit to unite him with. He passed the plate of food to a slack jawed Much— staring silent and conflicted at the scene, as could be imagined— and sat himself heavily in a chair by the dwindling morning fire.

With the corner of his passive, almost uncaring eye, Archer could see that many moments of the exchange dove even further into juvenile antics, including, but not limited to, the holding of Guy's nose until he opened his mouth so Robin could shove in a bite of bread. That was the beginning of progress, it seemed. Because Guy could flounce and yell until the sun set and rose again, but manners would never allow him to spit out a bite of food in front of others. He chewed the bread, slowly and maliciously.

Seeing a similar treatment was perhaps in store for him regarding the next bite and all to follow, Guy begrudgingly told Robin that if he went very, very far away, he would make an attempt to eat. Robin did so gladly, though a bit skeptically. He left, giving Archer a nod which he supposed was a sign for him to watch Guy. He did, if only idly. After all, he was the man's newly discovered brother, not his mother.

Guy ate a couple bites of each food. When he was done, Archer helped him lie back down. He and Robin similarly presumed that the whole process would need repeating come lunch and then dinner. However, Guy ate the food given him, if only small amounts. Whether he dreaded the act of being held down and force-fed again, or simply needed the initial push to remind him of the taste and goodness of food, it was unclear. But he ate that day and the ones following. Still though, he would not move from his bed and spoke only when it was necessary and unavoidable.

—

Robin had many imploring letters to write regarding the people of Nottingham and how he was to feed them over the winter. After the castle's decimation, most of the purloined livestock and crops had been saved from the rubble, but, by definition, that of course meant that not all had. It would be a narrow scrape, but if he could convince people from outlying villages to send out any surplus, he could combine it with his stores from the forest and hopefully get them all through until spring.

When he opened his bedroom door, Robin saw Much inside, flittering restlessly around the room. There was a pile of clothes and blankets upon his writing desk that he was fairly sure had been folded earlier. Much seemed to be 'improving upon' what had been and refolding them himself. He looked fidgety and on edge, made abundantly clear when he stopped folding mid-shirt and scurried to the bed, throwing back the tucked blankets and remaking the whole thing to his standard.

"Much," Robin called, a worried, but amused, smile on his face.

"No," was all the man had to say in response.

Robin crossed his arms and snorted. "I haven't said anything yet."

"No, but you were going to," Much said obstinately.

"Well, of course I'm going to say something eventually," Robin exclaimed, throwing his arms wide. "You don't get credit for pointing out the inevitable."

"Master…" Much shook his head. " _Robin_ , do not send me away."

"What?" Robin's face scrunched up in a confused expression. "Where does this come from?"

"You sent Little John away," Much explained. "And Tuck too."

"I did not 'send them away'," said Robin. "I simply absolved them of obligation to stay."

"Yes, mm-hmm." He clicked his tongue and pointed an accusing finger at the other. "And you'd… absolve me as well, wouldn't you?"

"I would like to, yes," Robin sighed. He sat heavily on the bed and pulled the blanket from Much's hand where he still clasped it.

"As I thought," Much said, humming in the back of his throat. "No, thank you."

"Much," Robin pleaded.

"No." He shook his head stubbornly. "No, no, no."

"Fine then!" Robin grabbed the blanket Much had picked up again and threw it back down. Then he scooted over it and sat with his back against the headboard, trying to look casual and indifferent. "If you would rather stay here, folding blankets and waiting on my beck and call, like all the other servants—"

"'All the other servants'?!" Much objected loudly.

"Then I _suppose_ ," he went on, "I will find someone else to lord over this small plot of land I have."

Much blinked dumbly. "Small plot of…"

"Called Bonchurch."

"Bonchu… My Bonchurch?" Much asked dazedly.

"Yes, my friend." Robin stood and fastened a hand to the other man's shoulder in an act of friendship. "Or had you forgotten?" He laughed. "I find that hard to believe, seeing as how you haven't _shut up_ over it for three years now."

"Bonchurch. I had almost forgotten…" He put a weary hand to his head, running it all over, knocking off his old and tattered cap and tangling up his already knotted hair. Much fell like a stone. Fortunately there was a chair to catch him, but had he dropped all the way to the floor, he might not have even noticed in that moment. "So much has happened that I… Well, there have been so many more important things."

"I know." Robin smiled, one of happiness, of contentment and pride. "And for all of them I will be eternally grateful to you, Much." He knelt before the man, a strange act of subservience from a master to his servant. "I have never, and will never, forget your devotion and sacrifices. So while you have been forgetting your Bonchurch, I have been making it ready for you."

"Ready for me?" Much questioned, his face contorting with confusion.

"Yes!" Robin clapped a hand on Much's knee and grinned once more. "The people wait for you. And you may go to them and it by your own leave."

"Oh, Robin, I…" He stopped short and shook his head hastily. "But, no. I can't… leave you."

"Not with the fierce Gisborne downstairs, you mean?" He released a quick, patronizing laugh.

"No, I cannot leave you at all, you clot." Much stuck his chin up proudly. "You're rubbish on your own, absolute rubbish. I know it, you know it, the whole country _knows_ it."

"Then lucky am I," said Robin, "to have a devoted and loyal friend so near."

"Yes." Much hummed arrogantly and smirked. "You are lucky, aren't you?"

Robin stood again, up to his full height. "It's as though God himself smiles down upon me."

"And will He be doing His smiling on a lonely figure?" Much asked solemnly. "Will you send us all away?"

"Much…" Robin began, only to drift off, unsure of what to say.

"I don't want to leave you, Robin. I've spent so much time under you…" He raised his arms in a pathetic hope that he could convey what he meant with them somehow. After a second, they fell limply to his sides. "How do I begin to think for myself again, to- to breathe my own air? You give me lands and title, but now it feels… Well, it feels like I'm being bought off, paid for a job I would have done anyway."

"I am fulfilling a promise to a friend, nothing more," Robin told him, quick to assuage any notion of mere obligation from the other's mind. "C'mere." He held his arms open, gesturing in a circular motion with one of his hands for Much to stand and comply. "Come here."

Much rose to his feet. Robin grabbed him hard and tight, pulling the man to him in a fierce embrace that spoke wordlessly of friendship, trust, and love. Much gave as good as he got, and in Robin's ear there was a distinct sniffling sound of crying. Robin's hands rubbed between folds of material, thin and ragged from extended wear, as he patted the other's back.

"I want only your happiness, my friend." Robin placed his hands on either side of Much's face and pulled him back. He released a sighing laugh whose presence lingered in the form of a grin. "Let me give it to you."

Much nodded his head, absent and distractedly, at last giving his consent. "When, uh," he stammered and sniffed again. "When should I leave, do you think?"

"Whenever you want, Much," Robin said to him, endlessly supportive, "and not a moment sooner."

Much stayed another two weeks, constantly in Robin's shadow, occasionally bumping into him. Where some might have thought it annoying, Robin would simply laugh it off and give Much a slap on the back. He understood. After all, he did not wholly like the idea of not having the man— his unfailing rock in uncertain times— away from him, even if it was but a short horse ride off.

When Much did leave, the feeling was everything from bittersweet to pride to utter misery. Apart from the servants, only Guy and Archer remained in Locksley Manor. That day Archer gave Robin the space he sensed he needed.


	3. Chapter 3

One morning, when the sun was only just wheedling through fog and bare branches, Archer was awoken to the slight tickling sensation of a feather along the shell of his ear. He sprang up suddenly in his bed and grabbed the annoying, teasing thing. Attached to the other end was Robin, a cheeky grin on his face.

"Get dressed," he said, releasing his hold on the feather. Archer was of the opinion that there were very many ways he could have otherwise been woken up. He threw the feather and it fluttered daintily to the floor. Robin watched it and smiled wider. "We're going on patrol."

"I'd rather not, if it's all the same," Archer responded, throwing himself almost violently back into his sheets.

"It's not the same at all," Robin told him. He walked about the room and started picking up odds and ends: a shirt, his vest, his sword. "I'd like you to get to know the routes. Besides," he threw Archer's trousers at him, "what else could you spend the day doing?"

Archer grumbled and growled. "Sleeping, for starters." For all his many objections though, he did begin to roll out of bed and get dressed. At the very least, a day outside promised to be some mild entertainment, not like the mind numbing boredom the manor offered.

His mood was dampened quite noticeably when Robin told him that they would not be taking horses on their trip. It had something to do with their limited accessibility in certain areas or greeting the people on foot; he was still half-asleep and barely listening.

Tiredly, he followed behind his brother. Both had sword and bow equipped, but hopefully they would not be needed.

To Archer's surprise, they were not the only ones out and about. They encountered several people while walking through the village. Most were content to give no more than a wave, but one woman and her children stopped them.

"Robin," she called. "Robin Hood."

Robin stopped short, fingers twitching at his side. He looked tense, but when he turned, his face was all smiles. "Please," he said to the woman. "No more of this 'Hood' business. It's Robin now, just Robin. Or Robin of Locksley, if you feel like the whole mouthful." The woman apologized, but Archer's attention was focused on his brother, on the faltering smile he was trying to keep pinned in place. It was put-on and thus did not suit.

She gave them both a couple pieces of sausage from the family breakfast, which was better than the bit of bread they had run out the door with. Archer ate his greedily, but Robin only nibbled as they walked on and out of the village.

After a while of kicking up the dead brittle leaves beside the forest's tree line, Robin pulled from his pocket a cloth map of Sherwood. He showed Archer where they were and where each of the main villages rested. They followed a long path that led to Clun and reached the village a little before noon.

Again they were met with cheers and all the splendor a small gathering of serfs could muster. They praised Robin Hood, but as they were soon told, he was no more. Robin corrected each villager in how they addressed him, insisting on Robin of Locksley, or simply Robin. They didn't fully understand what he was playing at, but they granted his request. Simple as they were though, they would probably forget soon enough. They would slip and call him Robin Hood. Archer knew they meant nothing by it, but the title seemed to bother the man horribly.

The people told them of their happiness during the past month, how life had become some merry tale with no law regulating taxes. Robin said nothing of how that would not last. He did not want to ruin their joy.

When they left Clun, it was with a weighty parcel of food for their lunch. Archer made a joke over how the villagers seemed intent on fattening them up. Robin chuckled and led him back into the forest.

It was obvious they were heading for the former camp, but they were nowhere near it when Robin slowed down drastically. His feet stumbled and he took deep, wheezing breaths that said he had been pushing himself to continue for quite awhile. "I don't know what's wrong with me," he panted, leaning heavily against a tree. "I used to walk this everyday without tiring, several times a day, actually."

Archer said nothing but handed him a pouch of water. He took a long drink and then continued huffing insufficient breaths until he broke out into a coughing fit. It was a damp cough that produced nothing and tore at his insides, leaving his throat raw and his chest aching.

"I think you've pushed yourself too much too soon," Archer told him, beckoning him to sit and rest. "You almost died, remember."

Robin fell to the ground. He ran a hand through his hair that tightened painfully when the coughing returned. The sound came from deep in his chest and echoed through the forest like the loud wails of a dying dog. Archer gave him more water and some bread, not knowing what else to do.

The cough died down again after a moment, and when they were sure it had gone, Archer suggested they go ahead and have their lunch.

He was gnawing on a piece of pork when he passively said to the other, "No more Robin Hood then?"

"No," Robin answered. He threw a bone from his meal away, still a bit of meat left for some hungry animal to pick at. "No more Robin Hood. He died abroad a year ago and was brought back from the blackness of death by a monk, though he was never truly complete again. Last month a crumbling castle destroyed him once and for all, him and everything he ever was, everything he ever fought against." He took a deep breath and was relieved it didn't end in more of that barking cough. "Robin Hood rests at last."

Archer watched him carefully. He took notice of the distant look in his brother's eye, a weary expression that longed for true relief. It was no challenge in guessing his mind. "You wish the poison had killed you," he surmised.

"I am tired," Robin spoke, his voice embodying the sentiment. He held his hand out and curled his fingers as though he could crush the feeling in his fist and be rid of it. "I've given so much, lost even more— more than a man ever should. When will it stop? When do I get to put my fate in another's hands and let him shoulder the burdens and the misery? Where is my reward for good deeds? Where is…" His voice quit him. He clenched his fist tighter and let loose a sobbing cackle. "Where is my reprieve?"

Archer had no words of wisdom to offer him, no sagely advice to turn the man's perspective and make him see his life as kind and giving and full again. Slowly, he reached out and patted Robin's shoulder. He sighed. "You're as bad as him— Guy— aren't you? Just better at hiding it."

Robin laughed again, a quiet chuckle breathed out through his nose and accompanied by a half grin. "How does that make you feel," he asked, "knowing both your brothers are so exhausted from simply living?"

"It doesn't," Archer replied honestly, shrugging his shoulders. "Should it?"

"No," Robin told him, shaking his head gingerly. "No, you don't have to do anything you don't feel like."

Archer nodded, thankful for the response. Robin understood him, knew that his compassion was not easily won, and he was glad for that. "Come on," Archer said, rising to his feet and extending his hand. "No more patrolling for you today. You need more rest first." Robin looked at his hand, then to his face. He seemed to want to object, but he nodded his head in acquiescence, taking the offered hand.

When he was standing once more, he threw an arm around his younger brother's shoulder and yanked him over, placing a simple kiss in his matted hair. Archer knocked him away good-naturedly but let the arm remain for awhile as they walked home.

—

It was well into twilight one day— coming fast in its early winter hours— when Robin and Archer dismounted their horses and led them along the path outside the manor. Robin had needed a hunting trip, the last of the year, to supply him and his people with any fresh meat he could find. He had goaded Archer into going along with him by presenting the invitation in the form of a challenge: who could bring down the most game? Robin hadn't actually been keeping track, so he did not deny Archer's assertion that he had lost.

Their outing seemed to breathe restless life into the both of them, despite the tiring effort put forth and the all encompassing death that had surrounded them belonging to both plant and animal.

A young man took their horses from them, and Archer, looking forward to nothing more than getting inside by the fire, was grateful for the exemption from the duty.

The engaging hearth stood so marvelously in the great room that one could almost forget the stark figure that rested near it, that seemed to either absorb the light of the fire or create his own deep shadow that dispelled it.

Guy lay, as ever, on his cot. His head was turned to the side— towards the staircase— and the angle cast such shade upon his face one could barely see the thick stubble that had acquired there. Out of some inexplicable feeling of obligation, Archer had persuaded and helped him to shave occasionally, but that was only when he had the time and Guy was in the frame of mind for it. The two coinciding was rare.

"Gisborne," Robin greeted passively as he trudged across the room, shedding boot and cloak along the way. There came no word of reply. "And what did you do today?" Guy remained silent. There was some twinkle of mischief or frustration in Robin's eye that told Archer the man was in pursuit of something— somehow unsatisfied after a day of hunting, or perhaps spurred on by it. If a wish could have been granted, Archer would have asked only that the peaceful indifference the three of them had settled into could be left intact. But Robin did not share his want. "What did you do today?" Robin asked again, slowly. He stalked even closer to the quiet man, stood at the edge of his bed.

"Leave him be," Archer spoke, begged really. If Guy was content to waste away, he was content to let him. He couldn't _make_ the man care about life. "Robin, come. Warm yourself up by the fire."

Robin turned— his head and his cold, angered eyes hesitantly following— and stepped towards the fireplace. He thrust his hands before the flames and rubbed the waving, crackling heat into his nearly numb fingers. Archer stood beside him doing the same for a minute or two, then they each sat back in the closest chair available.

"Care to come a little nearer, Gisborne?" Robin asked, trying to taunt Guy into speaking once more. In reply, the man simply pulled one of his many blankets further up around his neck. "Dinner should be ready soon." Robin continued to speak as though there was an actual, normal, humdrum conversation going on.

As if on cue, the sound of plates and silverware hitting the wooden table rang out. Archer stood in order to grab Guy's plate so that he may eat in his bed as usual, but Robin grabbed his arm roughly, bidding him to stop.

"Join us at the table, Guy?" The man gave a dissenting grunt, the first legitimate response of the evening. Robin stood all at once, nearly knocking his chair over, and approached the cot. "I think I've allowed your egotistical self-pity long enough."

"You 'allow' me nothing," Guy bit back, finally speaking. "And I owe you even less."

That seemed low on the list of responses that Robin wanted to hear. His lips drew together in a harsh line. His eyebrows sunk angrily. "I'd say that if you don't eat at the table, you don't eat at all, but you'd probably prefer that, wouldn't you?" His words were short and clipped. "Come on then."

Robin bent down, and before any onlookers could really comprehend his intent, he had thrown back the blankets covering the bedridden man and tossed them away. "What are you doing?" Guy growled, but his question went unanswered. Robin grabbed one of his arms and pulled it over his shoulder. "Robin!" He heaved Guy up to the best of his ability, fingers and shoulder digging into his stomach and chest, and Robin was relieved that enough time had passed that he need not worry over aggravating any wounds. "Get off me!" Guy yelled indignantly. "Put me down!" He hit angrily at Robin, and that combined with his weight almost brought them down on top of one another.

Robin was determined. He dragged the man across the room— arms beating, useless legs dragging— and nothing would dissuade him, not Guy's hollering, not Archer's pleas for a normal evening of relaxation. He threw the tall man into a chair at the table and breathed deeply several times, feeling oddly winded from the exertion of it. There was a loud, grating screech when he pushed the chair forward.

Then he leaned in, his face inches from Guy as the man stared straight ahead, a turbulent storm raging in the eyes of his otherwise stoic face. "Eat," Robin ordered. "Read, write, set fire to the manor. I don't care!" His anger was a palpable thing, a demon hovering wrathfully behind him, urging him on, encouraging him to save and validate the life that had saved his. "Just do… _something_!" he yelled.

"Take me back to my bed," Guy snarled through teeth shut tight.

"No," Robin told him defiantly.

"Robin!" he shouted. His fist slapped the table with a loud and angry bang. "Take me back!" It might have sounded like begging if the words hadn't harbored such unrestrained ire.

Robin straightened and eyed Guy up and down. He was furious and exasperated. His goodwill was being callously denied in its want to simply help a man who did not desire it, to save a man who wished only for deathly condemnation. "You want back in your bed?" he asked slowly, ominously. "Here." He pulled back and fixed his foot to the seat of the chair, kicking out roughly and knocking it and the man to the floor. Guy lay, an unmoving heap. "Crawl back. At least you'll have accomplished something."

Archer was quick to step out of the way when Robin rushed past him and up the stairs. His bedroom door slammed shut, and Archer recognized the evening as unsalvageable.

The servants had fled at the first harsh word, not wanting to see Robin's cruelty or step in on Guy's behalf. Archer was alone in the room. He watched the man sprawled wretchedly on the floor and waited in half-hope that he would move. He did not necessarily agree with Robin's 'tough love' tactic, but a strong and known presence in his mind wanted Guy to get up, to crawl and make an effort. He wanted Guy to at least _try_ for his bed.

He didn't.

Guy lay silent and still for several long moments until Archer finally bent down and helped him up. His brother wrapped arms quickly around his neck, as though he had been waiting all that time and readily accepted the assistance he knew was coming.

Archer dragged Guy back towards his bed and deposited him upon its still warm frame. He handed him back his blankets and Guy covered himself, looking sad and frail once more. "Thank you," he uttered quietly.

An emotion sparked to life in Archer, a tightly wrapped coil of disappointment and disgust. These were his brothers? A feeble shadow of a man and another who hypocritically berated the first in between meekly serving peasants?

Pathetic.

—

Archer walked the halls and rooms of the manor on quiet, bare feet with only moonlight to guide him. He had been through most of the house by that time and found its offerings to be severely lacking in worthwhile goods. He held his breath as he stood just outside of Robin's door. If there was anything worth having, it would be in the master's room. A great apprehension filled him though. He knew Robin had been living in the woods for years, that his hearing must be as well honed as Archer's own stealth. He weighed the risks against the possible gains. There was only a brief dispute between the two choices. If he wanted to leave, he would need the resources to support himself.

The door was heavy, but its hinges were strong enough to bear it without sound as it swung upon them. Archer poked his head in and looked around. Robin lay on his bed, face down and sideways as though he had fallen into it and sleep hadn't really been planned at all; he had simply dropped down and passed out. Archer knew his argument with Guy's stubbornness earlier that evening would have taken its toll on his conscience. Robin had probably walked the length of his room again and again, troubled by the matter, until finally falling heavily into his bed, deep in sleep. It only served Archer's purpose as he was able to dart about the room as unnoticed as a ghost.

There were a couple of chests, which he went right to, but their contents were far from bountiful. If they were not empty, they held only papers or clothes. No doubt any gold or silver they had once housed was long gone, flittering into the hands of some undeserving peasant. He approached a smaller chest upon a shelf. When he opened it, the hinges made a faint creak. Quickly he checked Robin. The man had not moved. He had not heard.

Archer opened the lid again and was rewarded with the sight he saw: jewelry. The box was full of it. Silver caught the moonlight and gems glittered in it brightly. Gold sparkled and tempted him with its beauty. He pulled out a purse and started transferring his find. Though he hadn't the time, Archer could not refrain from inspecting most of the pieces, holding them up to the light. Most of them were so new, so untarnished they looked as if they might still be hot from forging.

Idly, Archer wondered which of his brothers had the penchant for collecting women's jewelry: the necklaces, earrings, bracelets, rings, and hair pins. He no longer worried about supporting himself on the road. They were all quite lovely and expensive. Surely such well crafted works of art were meant for some beauty of a woman. He wondered why they had never made it to the intended.

When he had taken the lot of them, Archer closed the chest and placed it back silently upon its shelf. He took a cursory glance around the room and found several other trinkets that only the wealthy had a need for, small enough to fit into his bag and valuable enough to be worth the effort.

The door was kind enough to close just as quietly as it had opened. He descended the stairs all the way to the bottom one, which he sat upon as he slipped into his boots. When he stood, he grabbed his sword from where it had been propped against a step, equipping it and throwing his pack over his shoulder as well.

Archer made his way across the room and towards the outer door, headed for the freedom that had been denied to him for so long. This door, however, was not as considerate as the one to Robin's bedroom. It opened with a loud screech. Despite its noise, Archer arrogantly thought he might still have been in the clear. He had one foot out when a call stopped him.

"Where are you off to this late at night?" The voice was so alert, Archer might have sworn Guy had been awake the whole time.

"Casual stroll to clear my head," he lied. "What's it to you?"

The light was dim, but Archer could tell that Guy's eyes had narrowed in suspicion, that they were studying him. The moonlight behind him, filtering through the door, must have betrayed the outline of the sword at his side, the bag he wore. Guy sighed heavily. "I had hoped," he said quietly, "when we found you that your imprisonment might have been a mistake, that you were an innocent. I wanted to believe that maybe you'd be more like _him_ ," he nodded in the direction of the stairs, "annoyance and all, and less like me."

Archer turned from the door angrily and walked half the paces to Guy's bed. "Let's get one thing straight: I am not you. I'm not Robin!" Had it been daylight hours, when loud booming voices were allowed to prevail, he was sure he might have yelled the fact. "I am Archer, son of who gives a care. I'm my own man."

"But at what price?" Guy asked him, an ambiguous question.

"Pardon?" Archer stepped a little closer.

"You seem a slave to the desire to be some one of a kind rogue," Guy sneered, but with his prone, vulnerable position on the bed, the words carried no bite. "As though you would sever any ties in service to it, and for only a pocket full of coins."

"And if I am?" Archer countered, not bothering to deny that he was leaving, that he was betraying. "The members of this so called… _'family'_ can't control their own pathetic lives. Why should I throw myself in with you?" Guy had no answer for him, and it only spurred on the feeling that Archer was right and justified in his talk. "You want me to stay?" He scoffed. "And what does that entail, hmm? Guard duty with Robin, protecting people who have never done a thing for me? Or do I continue picking you up off the floor? Which is it?" Guy remained silent, and Archer was sure he had won the argument. For some reason, that angered him further. "I'm out of here." He turned away from the wretched man. "So long, brother," he spat.

He had almost reached the door when Guy finally did speak, strong even words. "Leave the jewelry."

"What?" Archer asked, attempting to feign ignorance on the matter.

"I said leave it," Guy repeated. "There's no way you would go without one last prosperous betrayal. In this entire house, there is little else worth taking that you could fit in that bag. Leave," he ordered yet again, "the jewelry."

"Why?"

"It isn't yours," the man said.

Archer snorted. "And I suppose you've got a nice dress it goes with. Is that it?"

"Shut it!" Guy hissed at him. He sat up in his bed at last, but the changed position did little to dispel the weak, unintimidating image he made. "That jewelry belonged to…"

"Who?" Archer asked, mocking his silence. "The fabled Marian?" Guy flinched at the mention, but Archer didn't care. "Ignoring the fact that you have jewelry belonging to Robin's dead wife, I'll move right on to the part where I say she won't miss it."

Archer turned again to leave, angry and uncaring for anymore words of goodbye. He did not see Guy lean down and grab a small knife from under his bed. He threw the weapon expertly, and it dug a hole deep into Archer's bag. The younger man released a sigh, more of a humorless chuckle really, and pulled the pack from his shoulder. He yanked the knife out, but that only seemed to rip the tear wider, leaving a hole just big enough to be a nuisance.

"Congratulations," he called. "You have delayed me. Now I must go and find another bag."

"You are not leaving with that jewelry," Guy said sternly.

"What will you do, eh?" asked Archer, barely paying the other any attention as he threw his pack upon the table. "Scream for Robin?"

Guy paused, then nodded. "If I must."

"I'll wait," Archer said, pausing in his action to call the bluff. Guy sat, predictably quiet. Feeling no threat from his brother at all, Archer went about, silently looking through chests and cupboards until he found a nice enough bag. He was standing at the table and transferring his belongings when Guy finally did speak again.

"They were for Marian." Archer hummed in acknowledgement, not really caring. "Some I gave her, only for my gift to be refused. Others I bought with only the intention to give to her; I never got the chance. There are a few…" He paused. When he continued, his voice was a quiet whisper. "I've bought since my return from the Holy Land."

"That when you killed her?" Archer asked heartlessly, no emotion one way or the other. Guy nodded in answer, slow and listlessly.

"I don't know if it's simply habit by now, but… I can't stop. I see things in shops and they remind me of her." His eyes dropped to the blankets pooled around his waist and the hands that gripped them harshly.

"You really did love her." He may have posed it as a question, had he any doubt left in the matter. Guy nodded again as if he had asked it, and Archer regarded his brother for a long minute, appraising him. "Here," he said at last, walking towards him with the bundle of jewelry. He untied the string and loosened it until the opening was big enough to see most of the contents, even in the darkened room. "I suppose I could at least let you keep your favorite."

"You're too kind," Guy drawled sarcastically, "giving me back what is already mine." Despite his words and their sardonic tone, he still groped through the bag with his hand, seeming to know what he was looking for. "This one." He held up a ring with a thin band, green and purple jewels sunk into its faux vines of silver.

"Good," said Archer, drawing the string tight and closing the purse once more. "In return, I only ask that you keep Robin off my tail as long as you can."

Guy shook his head. "He'll not pursue you."

"No?"

"He didn't before, did he?"

"Fair enough," Archer agreed. He threw the jewelry into his newly pilfered bag and slid the whole thing onto his shoulders. "Farewell, brother. Keep yourself alive and we may meet again."

"You are the one more likely to die," Guy told him, "especially considering your record."

Archer nodded his head in concession as the claim definitely held water. "Well, if I do make it back one day and you happen to still be in the same spot I left you, I shall be severely disappointed."

Guy rolled his shoulders and laid back down. It was obvious Archer's opinion of him held little sway over his actions or drive. He merely held the small ring between his thumb and index finger, examining it, and wished Archer safe travels.

—

Robin ate his breakfast alone at the table. Guy took his at his bed, as was his wont. He had finished his plate when Robin sauntered over, idly popping bites of potato into his mouth. "Archer's sleeping in late," he said, making casual conversation. Guy had not forgiven the indignation Robin had caused him the previous night, so he felt he owed the man no explanation regarding their brother's late departure. Let him figure it out on his own.

Eight o' clock became nine and then ten. Robin threatened to wake their missing brother, but a threat was as far as it got. He stayed downstairs, sitting in a chair near Guy and the fire as he went over accounts written down. It would pain him greatly, but he knew the best way to ready the people for Prince John's inevitable reclamation of the land would be if he implemented taxation soon. It would be lenient, no more than they could spare, but after so many years of giving, it felt wrong for him to take.

He had just finished the math regarding the smallest amount his territory could get by on, when the door opened widely. Robin and Guy looked up, cursing the cold wind that blew in. They both called for the immediate closing of the door, and the intruding figure obliged. When he turned back around, there stood Archer, in all the regal fanfare he thought he deserved but was alone in giving himself. Guy would never admit it, but a warm sense of relief and contentment flowed through him at the sight of his brother. He was surprised to see Archer, but it was the good sort of surprise. It had been a long time since he'd had one of those.

Archer shivered, brushing stray flakes of snow from his shoulders, and stared at Guy with playful scrutiny. "What did I say about you being in that same spot when I returned?"

"What?" Guy scoffed. "Have I 'disappointed' you?"

"In so very many ways," Archer replied. He shed his cloak and threw it and his pack on the floor. "But forget that. I'm starving."

"And just where have you been?" Robin demanded. He stood and looked between Archer and Guy, knowing he was missing something very important.

"For a walk," Archer told him. Robin turned to Guy for a better answer, but the man only shrugged his shoulders. Technically, it was the correct answer.

"Oh, forget the two of you," he grumbled irritably. "You and your little secrets. Annie," he shouted, walking towards the kitchen, "get our young Master Archer a plate of lunch, would you?"

When he had left, Guy looked intently at his brother. Archer seemed of the mindset to pretend nothing had happened, but Guy did not share that want. "Why did you come back?" he questioned.

"I thought about it," Archer told him. He poked his head around a column to make sure Robin wasn't listening, then stepped closer to the other, just in case. "Realized that I want to explore the world, yeah, but I've got my whole life for that. In the meantime, I'd be a fool to pass up food and a bed and protection, even if the price _is_ dealing with you two."

"Are you really so cheaply bought?" Guy asked with a humorless chuckle.

"From my understanding," Archer said, face suddenly harsh, "you've only recently gone around with a big target on your back. Spend your whole life poor and looking over your shoulder. Then we'll talk about the 'cheap' price of a secure home."

Guy said nothing more and would not fight Archer on the matter. If that feeling of victory would inspire his brother to stay, then he would let him have it. He was actually much more distracted with Archer calling Locksley 'home.' He personally had been living there for seven long years. Even with the house's return to Robin, Guy still considered it his home. An unwanted, ignored, minuscule part of him may have even been grateful that Robin let him stay there. But to hear Archer call it a home, his home, bestowed in Guy an odd feeling of family and belonging. Not for twenty years had he felt it. After Marian's death, he was sure he never would again. It was not entirely unwelcome.

That night, Guy sat at the table to eat his supper. Not a word was said about it. Maybe the others sensed that if they made a comment, it would scare him off back to his bed. They were probably right.

With not much else to say, it was a quiet meal. Robin even held his tongue when he noticed a familiar ring resting on the smallest finger of Guy's left hand. He knew that ring. He had once taken it from the neighboring finger on Marian's hand. A strong desire filled him, wanting nothing more than to take the thing and throw it as far as he could into the snow outside. Somehow he refrained.


	4. Chapter 4

"Stop! Right now, stop what you're doing!"

Guy's orders went unheeded. He was, for all purposes, a muted ghost who could do little more than yell pointlessly at the people that walked back and forth with objects from the spare room that had, until recently, housed his guards on occasion. He did manage to hit one of the servants in the head with his pillow though and that helped ease his annoyance. "Oi! you put those papers back right now! Those are _my things_." He knew they owed him no more allegiance, but their blatant disregard for him and everything he was saying meant only one man could be behind their actions. "Robin!" he shouted.

It was mere seconds until the man descended the stairs, his cheeky, insufferable grin steadfastly in place. "Yes, Gisborne?" he asked innocently, as though he could not see the table being carried out right beside him.

"I demand to know the meaning of this," Guy commanded, pointing at the display since Robin seemed to have no intention of looking otherwise.

"Oh," he said, glancing briefly and then turning back. "Well to be perfectly honest, I'm getting tired of seeing your ugly face every time I come down the stairs." Guy ignored the jibe. "Thought we'd get you a proper bedroom. Given your situation though—"

"What? You mean because I'm a cripple," Guy interrupted with a sneer.

"I felt it'd be easier to just… clear a room out downstairs, yeah?" Robin seemed proud of himself and the effort he was putting forth to make Guy's life in the manor more relaxing and less on display. Guy, however, did not seem to care one way or the other.

"So what?" he asked with a malicious smirk. "You'll shut me off to myself? So you won't have to look at me anymore."

"No, I'm not…" Robin turned away for a second and pulled at his hair, releasing an irritated growl. "I'm not trying to get rid of you. But if you don't want your own room with a nice soft bed, I'll stop the whole thing right now."

"Do what you must," Guy told him, lying back down. "But I want _my_ things to remain in the room."

Robin whistled and spoke to the workers. "You heard him lads. Leave the papers, desk, what have you. The rest is yours to do with what you want."

Guy didn't like the idea of servants deciding what was important enough to stay or not, especially when they got to keep any excess. He said nothing though, not wanting to appear too interested in Robin's 'favor' for him.

That night after dinner, Archer helped carry him to his new room nestled at the base of the stairs. It housed his desk and clothes and a bed, but other than that, it was fairly bare. He didn't need much though, not anymore, not with the way he was living his days.

Archer put him down, and after two months on a cot, the feather mattress felt wonderful on his back. He could not keep in the contented sigh that escaped him.

Archer laughed humorously, but at what joke, Guy could only speculate. "What? What's so funny?"

"You, I guess," he said. "You're supposed to be the oldest, but you act like a big baby."

"Explain yourself," Guy growled.

"I don't suppose you'll thank Robin for your new room," Archer questioned of him.

"Why should I?" he said. "I didn't ask for him to do it."

"And that's why it's funny," Archer told him. He slapped the man on the shoulder and left, letting him get some sleep.

—

Guy sat at his desk reading. The material was nothing of real interest. Robin had been doing estimations for the taxes of Locksley. Guy felt it his duty to criticize— though in his mind, it was courteously phrased 'alert'— the man to his vast under-taxation of the people. If the do-gooder did as he wanted, they would go under before summer.

It had been a month in his room, and he was still averse to admit the advantage and practicality it awarded him. His desk was so near the bed that he could put himself into its chair. Getting back however (or anywhere else in the house, for that matter), was an entirely different issue. Those he still required assistance for, though he was loath to ask. He spent many days alone in his room, not only because he was his own best form of company, but because asking for someone to carry him out was not worth the reward. And he was entirely too pleased with himself in letting Robin continue to suffer over the fact that his doing something nice for him had only driven him further away from the rest of the house.

He was in the middle of calculations when Archer burst into his room unannounced. "Tuck's back," he informed. "Just thought you'd like to know."

They ate supper with company that night. Robin sat at the head of the table, as always, and Tuck sat across from him at the other end. There was a stranger who sat beside Archer and to Tuck's left. The monk introduced him as a priest, one to take over the hallowed duties of the church, seeing as how Lockley's last one had run off. Robin was happy to have him and stated that he had personally been helping in the final steps of restoring their church. It was even more magnificent than the previous one and ready for service. All it lacked was a leader.

When they had gotten the niceties out of the way, Robin begged for a report from the outside world. "It's as good as it is bad," Tuck told them. "With news of King Richard's captivity all over England, Prince John can either pay the ransom or lose face."

"He'll lose more than that if the king makes it home," Robin stated.

"And that's why I've been hearing whispers that he plans to spend much of the money he's raised as a bribe to continue the king's imprisonment. He'll not succeed though," he added. "Queen Eleanor herself is saving funds and ensuring that Prince John's go to the rightful place."

"I bet this 'collection of funds' bleeds the country dry in the meantime, eh?" Robin was angered and aggrieved over the matter but kept his emotions level. "But why is Nottingham excluded from this new taxation? What is he plotting?"

"I think our show at the castle sent the prince cowering," Tuck laughed. "You destroyed hundreds of his men, a decent amount of our domestic troops. He's declared the whole area a no-man's land ruled by outlaws. If he plots against us, it is a well kept secret."

"I don't suppose it'd be too much to hope that he simply has more important things on his plate, would it?" Archer asked with a grin, looking back and forth between Robin and Tuck.

"I'll never deny a man his hope," the monk said, but he himself didn't appear too full of the notion. "With any luck, the king's release will happen."

"Maybe it already has and we just haven't heard of it," Archer spoke cheerfully.

"I'll drink to that," Robin sang, holding up his goblet. The other men raised theirs in turn, all except for Guy.

"What?" he asked irritably, not liking the expectant looks directed at him. "Am I to be excited for the return of a man who abandoned his people in favor of senseless bloodshed and a war that was none of our business?"

"Honestly, Gisborne," Robin said with a sigh, taking a drink, "I'd be disappointed if you changed now."

"It was that man's lust for glory that allowed people like the Sheriff to take over."

"Oh, and you as well, hmm?" Robin prompted, setting down his cup and looking heatedly at Guy.

"Now, now, children," Archer spoke, trying to quell the arguing before it began. He found time with his brothers fairly tolerable, so long as there was no fighting. The conflicts only proved to make his life more difficult. "Let's agree to disagree, yeah?" They both grumbled their general consent to let the matter drop.

"Tuck," Robin said after awhile, when the food was mostly gone, "you and your friend here are more than welcome to stay while you set the church right."

"Thank you for the offer, my friend," he responded, "but if it is truly completed, I think we would prefer to stay there and work on the… finishing touches."

"Suit yourself. I look forward to the sermons."

—

When it was only Robin, Archer, and Guy, their dinner conversations were kept light, regarding trivial matters such as where to attain more food in the last month of winter. Anything further disturbed the balance. By that time, Archer was more than aware of the fact that Robin and Guy had never really been on the best of terms, as he may have been led to believe upon their first meeting. The arguments he saw, at first thought to be petty disagreements, were later revealed as cracks in a thin veil of civility that covered a longsuffering hatred. Camaraderie was a new and awkward thing for them, a child learning to walk. They had not much to say to one another because boundaries were still weak, still sensitive.

In the week since Tuck had shown up, however, Robin had done enough talking for the three of them. Everyday he grew more and more assured that King Richard would return home soon. "Locksley is already mine again in all but official channels," he spoke. "When the king returns, I'm certain he will fully reinstate my title and claim." The other two, Guy especially, ate their food quietly, letting him carry on. "When that day comes, there will be nothing to stop me from filing papers to give you your own land, Archer."

"Land?" he asked, looking skeptical. "For me? Why?"

"Well, they would have been yours anyway," Robin told him, ruffling his brother's hair playfully, "had fate been a bit kinder. I'm sure my father— _our_ father— would have given you one of the nicest plots around."

"I'll think about it," Archer replied, seeing the value in the land as much as the anchor it created.

"You too, Gisborne," Robin said around a bite of meat, gesturing with his fork. "Play your cards right, and I'll even declare the lands of Gisborne to be in your name again."

Guy set down his knife and laughed cruelly. There was a dark shadow around his eyes and a cold sneer hanging on his lips. "What?" he asked callously. "Tired of me already, of having to look after me?"

"No," Robin sighed, gazing tiredly at the ceiling.

"How happy you must be," Guy continued. "Soon I will be the trouble of the serfs, and you two," he pointed at them, "will finally be rid of me."

"That's not what I meant at all," Robin objected, hating how Guy always had a way of twisting and perverting his intentions.

"Oh, you should know I don't blame you," the man said with a fake kindness. "I would want rid of me as well."

"Well, there's the big difference between us, Gisborne," Robin shouted back bitterly. "I don't abandon people."

"Maybe you should have!" Guy yelled. He raked his arm angrily across the table, knocking plate and cup and food into the floor. "You should have left me to die." His words were wretched and self-pitying, but they carried a thunderous fury behind them that had been hiding for three-and-a-half months. He had been waiting for this. "What purpose have I now that my revenge has been met, that my legs betray me? What sort of life am I to lead? _You_ ," he bellowed, "should have left me in that godforsaken tomb."

Robin slammed his hand on the table. The wood resonated with a thick, hollow sound and probably did his palm a fair amount of damage, but he was in no mood to notice. He stood and ordered Archer to do the same. "Get his legs," he said. Both men stared at him oddly until he repeated the command, louder.

He pulled Guy's chair away from the table with such might that the man almost fell out. Then he wrapped his arms beneath his shoulders and hauled him up as best he could, considering how big he was. Watching him struggle, Archer finally jumped in to help, still confused as he grabbed Guy's legs.

"Let go of me!" the man barked. "Get off me!" Guy swung at Robin, and the fist connected with his eye. Given the angle, there wasn't much force behind it, but he did almost drop him.

Robin yelled for a servant to open the door, and they carried him outside, Guy fighting them the whole way. Robin led them down the path and across the bridge, to the edge of the deepest part of the pond with its high bank.

"Robin," asked a nervous Archer, "what are we doing?"

"Throw him in," Robin commanded. He ignored Guy's suddenly panicked pleas.

"That water has to be freezing," Archer objected. Tough love was one thing, but tossing a man who couldn't use his legs into icy water was as good as murder.

"Well then he'll have more incentive to make it to shore, won't he?" Robin snapped. His tone held no room for argument. His ears seemed closed to reason. His eyes were narrowed with a gaze that ate through dissention. Archer didn't think he had the courage to fight him on the matter. "Throw him!"

Knowing he would regret the action, knowing that he already did, Archer swung Guy between them and together they hurled him out into the water. He sank like a stone but soon fought his way to the top, gasping for breath. It took everything in him to stay afloat, and even that was a battle he seemed to be losing.

"Robin!" Guy cried. "Robin, please!"

"The bank's too steep for you to get up this way," was all Robin would say. "You'll have to swim to the other side."

"I can't!" he yelled back, sputtering water. "Archer! Brother, please!"

Archer ran to the edge, intent to jump in, but Robin caught and held him back, saying that if he tried again, he would knock him down. "You have two choices," he shouted to Guy. "You can accept defeat like a coward and sink, _or_ you can acknowledge right here and now that you still have two good arms left, that you're not useless, and swim to safety. It's the only way you're getting out."

Guy's head dipped under and he shook his arms wildly to get back up. "Please!" he begged.

Robin refused to move.

Guy went down again, longer that time. So long that even Robin began to grow worried. There was no visible trace him: no arms, no head, no bubbles. He was a mere second from letting Archer go in after him when Guy's head popped up, closer to the opposing bank. Slowly he began to paddle to it. Robin released a shaky laugh and slapped Archer on the back elatedly. They both ran across the bridge, ready to receive Guy.

When he did at last reach the shore, Robin and Archer stepped in and hauled him out, getting themselves soaked in the process. They all three laid there on the dead grass as Guy panted heavily in the middle.

He was shivering, and his teeth chattered when he turned to Robin and uttered, "I-I hate you s-so much, Locksley."

The harsh words could not touch Robin in that moment. He leaned down and placed a joyful kiss in the man's cold dripping hair. "Yes, but at least you're one step closer to loving yourself again." He fell back and released a whooping cry into the night sky.

"Come on," Archer said as he stood. "We're all soaking wet, you worst of all." He pointed to Guy. "I think a fire and a hot bath are in order."

"There's only two tubs," Robin remarked.

"Robin goes last," Guy was quick to say.

—

A couple of days later, Guy still refused to forgive Robin, but he was allowing the man to be in the same room as him again. It was a rainy day, and the fact that it did not fall as snow told them that they would be in for an early spring.

Guy looked out the window at the falling drops. He seemed enamored by them, but a closer look revealed an unfocused gaze. "You should learn French," he spoke passively, continuing to look unseeingly out the window.

"Uh," Archer drawled, looking between him and Robin. "Me?" Guy nodded. "Why would I want to go learning French?" he asked with a snort.

"To honor our mother's heritage," he answered plainly, at last turning to look upon his brother.

"Got a better reason?"

Guy paused, his mind whirling as he honestly struggled to think of a reason good enough to interest the other. "It's a… big appeal to women," he tried.

"Any foreign language is an appeal to women," Robin butted in. Guy glared at him.

"Don't listen to Robin," Guy told him with a derisive scoff. "He'd have you learning the Saracen tongue."

"And who's going to teach me this French?" Archer asked with a chuckle, toying with the idea. "You?"

Guy blinked then lowered his gaze. "That was… the idea."

"Oh," was all Archer could bring himself to say. He hadn't been expecting that. The very thought of Guy doing something productive was an entirely new notion. He almost wanted to agree, if only to see the man put forth effort into something. The thought brought a genuine smile to his face. "Yeah," he said, "I'll think about it."

"Good," Guy replied. His head bobbed repeatedly in a nod, and his mind seemed hard at work. Archer may as well have already accepted his offer for the look of planning on the man's face. "Good," he said again, looking back out the window.

—

In the end, Archer stood no chance of escaping French lessons. Guy seemed optimistic to have a cause, even a small one. Archer would not deny him it.

They were seated at the dining table during one such session when Robin marched swiftly down the stairs. "Come on," he said, lightly smacking Archer on the back of the head, "let's go." Archer dropped his pen and grabbed his sword from further down the table. "No, you won't be needing that," Robin told him.

"Where are we going?" he asked suspiciously.

"To church, of course," Robin answered, speaking as though it were truly the most obvious thing in all of creation. "Come on, Gisborne. You're coming too."

Guy's face scrunched up in an expression of repulsion. "I've no interest in going," he said. "I haven't been to church since I was a boy."

"Neither have I," said Archer, relaxing back into his chair. "Can't say I miss it."

Robin baulked, mouth agape in shock at the two of them. "Even more reason why you both should attend. Now come on, brother, stand up."

Archer obeyed, slowly and with a noticeable display of brooding. Robin unbuckled his outer belt and pushed the rakish vest from his shoulders. Then he straightened out his clothes to make him slightly more presentable. "Why is this so important?" Archer groaned as Robin ran fingers through his messy hair.

"Tuck's giving us a sermon before he leaves again," Robin stated.

"Even more reason why I don't want to go," Guy spoke up. "That man speaks the word of Robin Hood, not God."

"Well, today," Robin said, mildly content with Archer's appearance, "it is God. I'll not have my name glorified in church. Too afraid of blasphemous reprisals." Archer laughed, but Guy only rolled his eyes.

"Have fun then," he said.

Robin elbowed Archer in the side. He moaned in reply, guessing the other's intent. They approached either side of Guy's chair and, together, picked it up with him still in it.

"What are you doing?" he roared. "Put me down!" Naturally, they did no such thing, carrying him through the house and outside. They were almost to the bridge when Guy conceded. "Fine!" he said. "I'll go." His assent was welcomed but unnecessary as they all knew at that point that he was going no matter what he said. "Just let me out of the chair." They sat him down, and Archer grabbed him around the middle while Robin threw the chair back in the direction of the house. Then they both took one of Guy's arms around their shoulders and walked the rest of the way.

There was already a throng of people gathered around the doors of the church, and what good tidings were on their faces at seeing Robin, soured when they noticed Guy beside him. The man ducked his head down to avoid their glares.

Robin sat proudly in the front pew. Guy fell between him and Archer. People filed in after them, and the room buzzed with one sustained, droning murmur. Little could be picked out of the many hushed conversations, but the three of them would have been lying if they said they heard not the occasional wicked word intended for Guy.

When he could bear it no longer, Robin clapped his hands together and approached the pulpit, determined to have his say before Tuck got good and ready to begin. "People of Locksley," he called. Many eyes turned to him, but many more still were focused unwaveringly upon Guy. "I'm sure you have noticed that Sir Guy of Gisborne sits at the front here beside me. This is no oversight, nor is it a mistake. This man," he gestured at him almost proudly, "is my friend. He risked his life to save mine, and doing so cost him the use of his legs. He has my trust, my respect, and my love. Now, I do not ask you to be kind, as I know the histories many of you have with him, but _I will_ ask you to be civil, especially here, especially in the house of God."

"Well said, my friend," Tuck spoke in greeting as he walked up the aisle. He patted Robin on the shoulder, and the man retook his seat. "And is love not a better message than hate? Is forgiveness not the harder, but more rewarding, path?" He carried on like that, slowly beginning a sermon that could have been carefully planned or, just as easily, spontaneous and natural. The words were passionate, engrossing. The people soon gave up any interest in Guy.

For his part, Guy was not lost in the words. He studied them carefully, dissected their meaning and their message. It was all very different from the church he had attended as a boy. Their priest was an exceptionally kind man, until he stood before his flock. Then he was every bit the fire and brimstone type. He was more intent on spreading the terror of bad deeds punished than the promise of redemption. Therefore, as a result, Guy had never really liked church. Tuck's words, however, turned the board, gave him a different perspective. They led him— perhaps falsely, he thought— to believe that he could repent for his own sins and be forgiven, that he didn't need the pure soul of another to wash away his crimes, to cover up his evil.

When the sermon had ended and the people fled to fill the second half of their Sunday with merry-making, Guy sat still, staring ahead, waiting for them all to leave.

"Come on then," Archer said, holding out his hand and waiting for Guy to take it so that he and Robin could carry him back.

"No, I…" Guy cleared his throat. "I would like to stay and talk with Brother Tuck." When the two stood unmoving, staring at him in confusion, he hissed, "Alone."

Robin nodded his head haltingly, still puzzled but trying to work through it. He snapped his fingers to get Tuck's attention, and the man joined them. "Tuck," Robin said slowly, "Guy would like a word with you alone… apparently."

Tuck did not seem surprised, only pleased. He smiled and said, "Of course. Give me one moment."

Archer looked at his brother and shrugged his shoulders. "I guess… we'll wait outside." Guy barely noticed when they left.

"Now then," Tuck spoke after he had closed the doors. His voice boomed through the quiet church as thunder on the mountain. "How may I help you, Sir Guy?"

"I wish for confession." Guy looked solemnly at his feet, as if ashamed.

Tuck nodded. "And I would give it you. But this small church," he gestured around them, "it has not the proper confessional booth. Will you go on?"

"I will." Tuck sat in the pew behind him, but the feeling of eyes on the back of his head, watching, quickly made Guy ill at ease. "Please," he said, "is there nowhere else you can sit?"

"You mean at your side, or perhaps we change places and you sit behind me?" Guy nodded, preferring either to their current arrangement. "You do not like the feeling of someone watching you." Guy shook his head. "Tell me then, how do you ignore the eyes of God that gaze omnisciently?"

"I… I don't know. I-I," Guy stuttered horribly, not having an answer.

"To let me sit behind you is to put your faith in me, your trust. I want you to do the same with the Lord, Sir Guy. Otherwise we gain nothing from being here. Now I ask again: will you go on?" Guy nodded meekly. "Excellent. Has it been a long time since your last confession, my son?"

"Years," Guy told him. His words were stretched and thin, tired. "Too many to count." There was a long silence that followed, and not until it ended did Guy realize that he was perhaps meant to have said something more.

"Would you like me to retrieve the resident priest?" Tuck asked kindly. "I'm sure you would have an easier time talking with a stranger."

"It is because you are not a stranger to me that I wanted to speak with you," said Guy. "You know me. You know that I… I have done," he paused, "every unspeakable evil a man can do. I have repeated them often and proudly." He fell quiet again as the horrible offenses passed before his eyes, as screams roared in his ears. "I have stolen; I have lied; I dishonor my parents' wholesome memory; I am prideful, selfish; and I have… killed. Many people have died by my hands, _these_ hands," he said holding the poisonous things out in front of him. "I am a monster that destroys lives and ruins families."

"It's true," Tuck stated after a moment. "You have done horrible things, my son. But unlike many men in your position, with such much blood and so many tears on their hands, you feel remorse for your actions. I want you to remember that. Because it's a start."

"A start for what?" Guy questioned miserably.

"A start for redemption, of course. Is that not what you seek by being here?"

"I don't know what it is that I seek." Guy stared at his feet, wishing he could move them. He wanted to quit the discussion, the talk that only dredged up bad memories. It had been a horrible idea to confess. He wasn't sure what he had been thinking.

"Do you know your problem, Sir Guy?"

He shrugged his shoulders in reply. There were many.

"For all your strength, you seem a weak man." As Tuck spoke, a legitimate feeling of disappointment snuck into his words. "You fall so easily to the will of others. Tell me, what horror lies in being your own man?"

Guy sighed, a weary sound that preluded ruminated thoughts. "I possess not the strength to carve out my own life, nor the wisdom to run it."

"So you become a pawn in the games of others?" Tuck bellowed at him. "If you must know your biggest fault, Sir Guy, it is your weakness."

"When I act on my will alone," he defended, "horrible things happen. I sold my sister to a young man I had only briefly met. I killed… Marian, the woman I loved— the woman I love."

"And do you wish to apologize for these things?" Tuck asked, silently imploring him to say yes.

"I want to," Guy muttered, "but…"

"Damn your pride!" he cursed. "What good has it ever done you? Name one thing."

Guy was quiet, as though actually trying to think of an example. And indeed a moment later he whispered, "I cannot."

"And that is why it is a sin," Tuck stated, "a cardinal one. I would have you give up many things, my son, but first and foremost I want that one gone."

"How can I?" Guy inquired. Perhaps he would do it, perhaps not, but he would like to know the path, should he decide to walk it.

"You begin by admitting you were wrong. I want you to make amends, in any way that you can." Tuck leaned forward and put a comforting hand upon Guy's shoulder. "You must approach the people you have mistreated. If you can give them nothing else, give them your apology. Bare yourself to them and admit that you were wrong."

"What's done is done. No one here would want any sort of… _apology_ from me," Guy scoffed. The very idea that words would erase the suffering he'd caused was laughable.

"You won't know until you try."

Tuck stood. Guy wanted to stop him, to steal more of his time and wisdom, but he realized there was little else to say. The monk reopened the doors, allowing Robin and Archer to enter and retrieve him.

When they approached his pew, Guy seemed relieved, despite having gained as many burdens as he had just cast off. His face was concentrated in thought, but his shoulders were relaxed, his spirit light. Simply admitting to his faults and evils had lifted something in him.

"Enjoy yourself?" Robin asked with a grin.

"Come on," Archer said, "let's get out of here. I'm starving."

"We should have lunch outside," Guy thought aloud. He was met with a queer look from both men.

"We should what?" Robin asked uncertainly.

Archer raised a skeptical brow. "A picnic?" he questioned.

"Looking for another outing by the pond, is that it?" Robin added cheekily.

"No," Guy snapped before pulling himself back under control. "We take the horses out, somewhere far and quiet."

Archer and Robin glanced to each other. It was a peculiar request certainly, but the warm weather of the day— compared to the last few frigid months— practically begged for it. And Robin did happen to know just the spot where they could enjoy the sun and its lapping affections. "Why not?" he exclaimed with a grin, clapping his hands together.

Not a half hour later, they were en route. Robin toted a bundle of food upon the back of his horse. Archer carried Guy on his. The big man grasped him loosely around the middle, unable hug the horse's flanks with his legs.

When they found the intended corner of paradise, nestled far enough into Sherwood to be a secret, Robin dismounted first. He pushed down tall dry grass and hacked at the more persistent stalks with his sword. "If this dulls my blade," he shouted, "you're sharpening it, Gisborne."

"If it dulls your blade," Guy called back, "it'll be your own fault for picking such an overgrown area." Archer jumped off and held out his arms to catch Guy. Robin laughed openly at the figure of knight and rescued damsel they presented. He was struck with two unamused, matching scowls.

"Careful," Robin warned, nodding at Archer. "You actually look like him when you do that."

Archer shrugged what little he could with his arms so laden. "Not _so_ bad, is it? He is my brother, after all."

"No," said Robin, shaking his head, "not so bad at all." He took a deep breath and continued with his small labor, a job that left him winded and exhausted in a way that wouldn't have a year ago, that wouldn't have before his poisoning and its weakening sickness.

It was a nice place that Robin picked, though he would never hear any praises over it. There was a quaint little stream nearby, just busy enough to make a rippling sound when it came cascading over a pile of rocks. The trees had no leaves as yet, but they were so closely grouped that they provided an adequate amount of shade anyway. The horses were unsaddled of their burdens and left to run and graze on dry grass in the intersecting glade.

Archer eased Guy onto the small clearing Robin had made and sat himself down across from him on a flat rock overlooking the brook. There was no talking, only the hum of nature awakening.

Robin sat down with their food and untied the cloth surrounding it. He threw a roll to Guy, who caught it even without a fair warning. They settled into their meal and went completely undisturbed until one could no longer hold his tongue.

"You didn't have to do that," Guy muttered, "in the church. I didn't care that they were staring and talking. You didn't have to say anything."

"Even if you didn't care," said Robin in reply, "it was bothering me. Don't worry though. I'll not expect any thanks or anything."

There was silence for a moment, then, "Thank… you," Guy whispered slowly. They sounded like the two most complicated words he had ever strung together, as though they were heavy and exhausting and had needed to be dragged out by great force.

The expression on Robin's face was one of endless shock. He looked to Archer to make sure he had heard it right, and the man nodded. "Well… you're welcome," he said in response. "I promise that despite what you may think, I only ever try to do right by you."

"I know," Guy told him, and that too was surprising. He must surely have seen the admission as humiliating, because he would not look up from the ground. "That's just who Robin Hood is. Isn't that right?"

"Oh, he doesn't like the 'Hood' bit anymore," Archer spoke up on Robin's behalf.

"Noted," Guy said in acknowledgement. He nodded and took a bite of salted beef.

"Well, in the spirit of acknowledging my good deeds as only that," Robin said, courteously covering his mouth with the back of his hand as he spoke around half-chewed bits of food, "I would like to revisit the subject of division of land again, if I may."

Guy rolled his eyes, turning his nose up at the blue sky as he released a haughty scoff. "God," he groaned, "not this again."

"What have you got against the return of the Gisborne lands?" Robin asked wearily. "Is that not what you wanted, what you tried to overcompensate for by taking all of Locksley? Why do you fight me? And don't go saying it's because you're crippled and confined. We all three of us know you're stubborn and fierce enough to lead from a chair if you wanted. So why—"

"Because no one would stay under my watch!" Guy screamed. It was a fuming, crestfallen declaration of grim fact. "Not when they could flee to the safe, kindly embrace of their returned Lord of Locksley. They would abandon the lands. And I will not see my father's pride come to ruination because of me."

Robin sighed, silent for a long while. He knew there rang a semblance of truth in Guy's words, that people would not stay if he was their lord, not if there existed another option. But for both their sakes, he spoke kinder, more hopeful words. "Oh, come on," he said with faltering confidence. "Some will stay. I guarantee it. It's been their home their whole lives. And if you treat the people well and with respect, many more will flock to you."

"Hardly," Guy sneered.

"Marian," Robin said, uttering the forbidden word that lay between the two men like a dormant battlefield, unspoken for fear of waking wrath and bloodlust. With an understandable feeling of unease, Robin bade himself to continue with the thought he had begun. "She used to say," he confessed, softly, gradually, "that there was good in you. 'He has a conscience. He has qualities. He acts the way he does only because he has been deprived of love.'" Robin paused, biting at his lip. "I always assumed she was forcing herself to see things that weren't there… But I see it now. I do. I only wish I'd been able to sooner, for her sake." Guy stared at him abashedly, eyes open wide in unhidden surprise, lips parted ever so slightly in silent breath. It was obvious that such heartening words (from a former enemy, no less) had taken a great and unexpected toll on him. He stammered clumsily over words and his ability to form them, whether to say his thanks or some flattering remark in reciprocity, he did not know— never would because Robin interrupted him. Teasingly, the man said, "Maybe if you hadn't been such a prat, yeah?"

Guy growled and huffed and pushed the man over. Robin laughed the entire time and rolled onto his back to look longingly at the sky, tucking his arms behind his head.

"I love you, Guy of Gisborne," he said earnestly. "God help me, I do."

Archer chuckled mirthfully and hummed in his throat. "God help the both of us," he said with a smile. "I love you too, I suppose, sword at my throat."

Guy was at a loss for words. His own feelings in the matter were unknown to him. He knew that he was willing to die for both of them— had proven that fact— but it was unclear to even him if it is was out of love or some form of penance. What he _did_ know was that their presence was comforting, not wholly unwanted. The thought of being once more alone in the world unsettled him greatly. "And you?" he said to Archer, casting aside words of love in favor of pledges of loyalty. "Would you stay?"

"Oh, I don't know," the man replied. He dropped his hands to the warm rock and leaned back on them. "I'm right taken with Locksley now. Though I do love to explore the world and her mysteries. Maybe you put that land on hold for me, eh?"

Robin sat up and looked at his brother appraisingly. "I'm not sure if I like the idea of you going where I can't see," he stated. "You're a magnet for trouble, you are."

"As if you have room to talk on the matter," Archer argued. "I think it runs in the family." He nodded his head at Guy. " _Both_ sides."

"And so you are cursed with a double dose!" Robin exclaimed with a laugh.

"It's just made me clever at escapes," he said haughtily, full of pride on the matter.

"Yes," Guy spoke, "our brother the escape artist."

"Guy, you flatter me with such terms," Archer smirked. "But artist, yes." Sobering, if only a little, he turned to Robin. "And what of you? What will you do when you've finally succeeded in driving everyone away? Will you sit in your big house, alone and proud?"

Robin chuckled and held his hands up in a mimic of surrender. "To be perfectly honest, I hadn't actually thought of it." He dropped his hands, rolled his shoulders. "My plans don't go past setting up the people I care for."

"There's the sanctimonious do-gooder for you, Archer," Guy jeered. "He gives and gives until there's nothing left for himself."

"I suppose I should be more selfish like you then, eh? Try and have it all. That always seems to end well."

Seeing an argument bubbling, threatening to ruin the nice outing, Archer stepped in, saying, "Ladies, please now." Condescension always seemed to be the quickest way to turn their focus on him instead of each other. And since they both seemed fascinatingly incapable of staying mad at him for long, it was the best way to end any and all disputes. "There's no reason you both can't be right. I think that staying at Locksley Manor for a bit longer and mooching off Robin's hospitality is a good way to please everyone, me and my wishes most of all. Why upset that?"

"He does have a point," Robin conceded.

"Well, maybe I don't like the sound of me living off of your pity and charity," Guy snapped.

"Then take the lands I'm trying to return to you," Robin cried, thoroughly exasperated. "It's one or the other, Gisborne."

"I'll think on it," he stated slowly, already contemplating the matter.

Archer stood and stretched his legs. "If you're done bickering like an old married couple," he said, earning a glare from both, "I'd like to get back home now." There was the word of 'home' again, the assertion that where they lived and whom they lived with created any sort of atmosphere that warranted the sweet endearment.

"There's no rush," Robin said, standing as well. "Nice day out, good breeze. We already have the horses. It's been awhile since I've been riding for riding's sake." Archer shrugged, not caring either way. Guy answered similarly. "Good. Gisborne," he said jokingly, "don't get up. We'll saddle the horses." Guy laughed humorlessly.

When the horses were readied and Guy had been raised onto one, Archer and Robin climbed into their saddles. "Brother," Robin said as way of asking if the other was ready.

"Brother," Archer replied with a nod, his hands tightening on the reins.

Anxious hooves pawed at the ground, ready to start into a trot, when Guy quietly said, "Brothers." It was not altogether out of place, but the plurality of the word could not be ignored. He had included Robin. Some nameless force stood in the way of him telling the man that he loved him, even in response to the other's admission, but he could call him brother. He could give him that title.

Robin stared at him, then smiled. "Brother," he answered.

The end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If I had carried on past this point, I would have had Guy in a wheelchair. Apparently, they did exist at that time in China, and Archer is well learned in the technologies of the Orient. So he probably would have thought to make one for Guy. Eventually. Since he's so good at building things.


End file.
